I’M inside a small noodle bar in downtown Tokyo when the floor suddenly begins to wobble.

The counter vibrates against my hands and water shakes in the jug in front of me, spilling on to the surface.

It takes a few seconds for the realisation to dawn.

This is an earthquake – just one of the many aftershocks that have rocked Japan since last Friday’s devastating tsunami.

The sensation is like being in a lift which suddenly jolts when caught between floors.

But as I look around it seems the few customers who have dared to venture out tonight for their evening meal have barely noticed.

An office worker sits across the table from me with his head bowed over his food as if nothing is happening.

Many Japanese, however, are far more scared by the seismic shocks rippling through the country.

The 20-second tremor I felt last night was a 6 magnitude which had its epicentre in Shizuoka. The one that caused the tsunami was a 9 – thousands of times stronger.

I dread to imagine what that must have felt like. Four days after the worst earthquake in the nation’s history, Tokyo is struggling to return to normal. In the heart of one of the world’s liveliest cities people are staying at home with the windows firmly shut.

The evidence of the fear stalking this outwardly smiling and confident country is everywhere.

Young and old alike are worried sick at the prospect of another deadly tremor and the looming radiation cloud drifting slowly from the smouldering Fukushima reactor just a few hours north.

At the world-famous Hachiko Square in Shibuya, only trickles of commuters emerge from what would normally be bustling side streets.

SMASHED

This is Tokyo’s equivalent of Piccadilly Circus, and it’s eerily silent.

Usually on a weekday evening there would be throngs of office workers and partying teenagers waiting 20-deep at the edge of the road in the scramble to get across.

Taxi drivers sit in their cabs waiting for customers who never arrive.

And the giant neon signs that have become symbols of the Japanese capital’s 24-hour street life have all been switched off.

It is just one of the energy-saving measures introduced by the government as it desperately tries to conserve power following the shutdown at Fukushima. Some passers-by are so stunned by the rare spectacle that they pause to take pictures of the darkened hoardings with their phones.

There is no sense of panic in Tokyo, but everyone is on edge waiting for nature’s next move.

Student Taisuke Seki, 22, said: “I am worried about what has been going on just like everybody else.

“I’m not sure whether the radiation is coming this way or not and it is impossible to know what you are breathing in.

“On a regular night there would be a lot more people in here than this. I will be staying inside a lot more for the next few weeks until I’m sure this is definitely over.”

His friend Yuki Satou, 18, said: “The quake on Friday was like nothing I have ever been through before.

“I was at home and I fell out of my chair. The vase on the table smashed and all the books flew off the shelves. It felt like I was out at sea in the middle of a storm.

“Suddenly I am a lot more nervous. I don’t want to be near any tall buildings if I can help it.” After spending a few hours walking around Tokyo yesterday evening it was noticeable that only teenagers and young adults were out and about.

Middle-aged couples with young children and the elderly have apparently deserted the city for now.

They include many British families who are anxious to leave as soon as possible. Banker Mark Law said he has only stayed on because his daughter needs hospital treatment.

“Unfortunately, we cannot leave,” he said. “My daughter is in hospital for a pre-planned operation and she needs aftercare following the operation. So it’s a bit of a bad situation.”

Office worker Ryutaro Fujita, 24, said: “My parents have no desire to go out while all this is going on. They are waiting for a few weeks.

“They have bought as much as they can from the shops in case another big earthquake comes along.”

Across the sprawling city of 13 million people, clothes shops are closing in the middle of the afternoon because there are so few customers. Supermarket shelves are empty and petrol station forecourts are closed because of fuel delivery problems caused by ruptured pipelines.

At Shinjuku underground station where more than a million commuters pass each morning only the beggars are staying out because they have no choice.

Despite the brave face some try to put on, trepidation is everywhere.

In a hotel in the main business district the bell boy looks nervously up at the chandeliers every few minutes, as if he knows that one day soon a quake will come to send them crashing to the floor.

WRECKAGE

Outside Tokyo, millions are struggling without electricity.

Thousands are still missing and amid warnings of another major quake, the task facing rescuers is massive.

Heavy machines move slowly through the debris desperately searching for anyone still alive.

But a number of search teams have so far been unable to reach some of the worst-hit areas because the roads are so badly damaged.

It is in these areas where survivors are simply clinging on.

Food and water are running worryingly low – and it could be days before fresh supplies reach them.

Some people are washing their clothes in muddy rivers and cooking on camping stoves in front of the rubble of their family homes. Others are left to carry victims through the wreckage desperately trying to reunite them with grieving relatives.

Each night at around 5pm, many small towns in Japan play a favourite tune over public speakers.

And last night the tiny community of Ofunato did just that.

The haunting words of the Beatles’ wistful hit Yesterday played over the only speaker left in the once picturesque fishing village that was virtually wiped out as the earthquake and tsunami struck five days ago.

Red Cross workers described the devastation there as among the worst they had ever seen.

But as people battle to get back to normality, The Beatles song they play to let schoolchildren know it is home time echoed around the rubble-strewn streets as usual.

But this time the words seemed to have a new poignancy, especially the opening lines: “Yesterday, All my troubles seemed so far away.

“Now it looks as though they’re here to stay, Oh, I believe in yesterday…”